When Quitting Your Job Goes Wrong – DMFRH: Poking the Bear Edition Part I

Howdy Ho boys and girls! In the midst of your post-Christmas – pre-New Year’s – do I seriously have to go back to work? stupor, I welcome you back to Crooked Letterz, the place where we look at the darker side of life and point fingers and laugh. I am your host, Christopher Starr, and THIS is Dis MuthaFucka Right Here – Poking the Bear Edition (edition edition edition)

I gotta get some fireworks or something.

Now before I get started, I have to say a word of thanks for the kind words, well wishes and general good will. You guys have been incredibly patient and I appreciate you sharing my concern over my wife during her Big C diagnosis and surgery and offering your condolences after my grandmother’s passing. I sincerely appreciate it—more than you’ll ever know.

But it is time to get back to it. We’re gonna get back to our villainy business in 2013 (promise!) with the conclusion of Mayhem of the Mouse and the rest of the Festival of Fiendishness (I gotta get to 100 villains) but for now, I have something a little different in mind.

Lemme get my John McCain on: my friends, today’s post is pretty special.

As 2012 winds to a close, I am inspired to look back at some of the fun times we’ve had together: you laughed at me walking my dog with Hello Kitty earphones, we looked at about 65 of our favorite villains, broke Disney World, and we saw the rise of DMFRH with The Boy, Shawn T (punk ass), and me. As a matter of fact, 2012 has been quite the year for muthafuckas. Lucky for you, I saved the best for last. Consider it my gift to you…

Earlier this year, I broke from the dark stuff to write a sappy, saccharine-laced post called Pursue Your Happyness. It was about my wife finding her happy place planning Disney vacations for people who feel perfectly at home with man-sized mice and what I am convinced is a rabid duck in a sailor’s suit. And NOBODY has pants. What’s wrong with pants?

But that’s beside the point.

That post centered around her joining an Authorized Disney Vacation Planning agency (who shall remain nameless—but whose initials are Blue Sky Journeys). The company was truly an American story: started by a young couple with $30 and dream, grew to have national reach and about 30 planners. It was cool shit. I was happy for my wife and happy she’d joined such a close-knit “family.”

Until shit got stupid.

See, I’ve worked with large and small companies, startups, nonprofits and Fortune 500s. I’ve made my share of clerical errors and full-scale fuck ups. I don’t begrudge mistakes. I take issue with how you deal with them. And in each of those instances, with each of those organizations, when I departed, my departure was handled with professionalism, courtesy and decorum.

I guess you can imagine that’s not exactly what happened.

And if you’re wondering why I’m saying it at all, it’s because someone told me not to. Not to publish “ONE THING.” That reverse psychology Jedi mind trick bullshit doesn’t work on me. I slept with a woman 14 years my senior who worked at my college because somebody told me not to. I moved out of my mother’s house 16 hours after moving in because somebody told me what not to do. If you don’t want me to publish it, you probably shouldn’t say stupid stuff in email. To me. Or on voicemail. Dummy.

So, gather ‘round kiddos and let me tell you the story of Dees Muthafuckas Right Here. Once upon a time, there was a girl with a dream about making people pay ridiculous prices for mouse-themed vacations. So she found an agency to make her little dream come true. Now, for a variety of reasons (the final one being served with a Cease and Desist for simply doing her job with the tools given) the girl—my wife—decided it was best to part ways with her homey little travel agency and penned this resignation letter:

ResignationIt’s relatively standard, right? Maybe adds a little more specificity than I would have but it’s essentially “I’m out, pay me what you owe.” And it garners an appropriate response:

Johns response resignation

Now if that were the end of this story, it’d be sad indeed. Lucky for all of us, our friends in Tennessee do not disappoint. A couple hours later, this strolls into the Inbox:

Melanies-response-resignation

Wait, what?

Suddenly, things aren’t so magical. Or grammatically correct. I think we’re in HUDGE trouble…

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Chris, this is awfully one-sided. You’re only posting their stuff.” And you’d be right: it’s my blog. My house, my rules. And we’re the good guys. But I hear you, I hear you—so I’ll post Amanda’s response. But before I do, I want you to notice 2 things: 1) this is the owner of the company talking; and 2) she copied everybody and their mama on it. All 30 of those planners, some of them friends, received the same email.

So Amanda copied them too:

Amanda Response 1

Amanda Response 2

Amanda Response 3

The email was bad enough. But they really didn’t appreciate the Reply All. Not one bit (you gotta say it in the Joker voice).

This is only the beginning: this story gets SOOOOO much better–you gotta keep reading for Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and the Greatest Hits, all featuring:

• More emails!
• Legal threats!
• A drunk ass voicemail!
• And then – Chris gets involved!

“You knew this was coming, Pete.” – Harry Osborne, Spiderman 3

Pursue Your Happyness

I have to interrupt my lil bout of villainy for an important public service, feel-good type of post. Yeah yeah, I know, it runs counter to my usual bad self but, sometimes, it has to be done. So here goes:

I learned a couple of things from Will Smith: that a poor kid from the ghetto with a winning smile and a bubblegum song about how his “Parents Don’t Understand” can leave his homeboy behind, move to Beverly Hills, and forge a lucrative movie career; that those G-Men is the nondescript black suits, white shirts, and boring ass cars are really the alien police; and that “if you want something, go get it. Period.”

Pursue your happyness.

In the based-on-a-true-story movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, Will Smith plays Chris Gardner, a single dad whose just trying to do the damn thing and take care of his son. His wife left him, unpaid parking tickets got his car towed and him arrested, and his only source of income is selling these unsellable bone scanning machines. Oh yeah, and the IRS takes all his money. FROM HIS ACCOUNT. Chris gets a spot in an unpaid internship (clad in a wife beater tank top and paint-covered pants) and does everything he can—from taking the bus to jacking taxis for their fares to sleeping in train stations and shelters—so he can complete the internship and POTENTIALLY win a full-time gig with Dean Witter (remember them? They’re Morgan Stanley now). Short of Seven Pounds, Will Smith only does feel-good movies; you can figure out how this ends.

My wife has always been a go-getter. Seriously. When we moved out to Colorado (leaving sunny Cleveland, Ohio (the land of dreams) in a Saturn Vue and a 5×10 U-Haul trailer with two kids and a dog), my wife found a job and was AT WORK in 2 DAYS. Interview, hire, start. 48 hours. Never seen anything like it. When she got fed with working for The Man, she started her own event planning company. And got good at it.

And this week, she became an Authorized Disney Vacation Planner.

Now you might be thinking: dude, it’s just Disney vacations. Whoop-de-doo! I get that. But my wife LOVES Disney. I told you that. She LOVES Disney. Read no less than 12 Disney guides before we went to Disneyland for the first time. She searches for the hidden Mickeys in the parks and the resorts on the property. Wants to be Belle when she grows up. My wife is literally a Certified Mousejunkie.

And this is what makes her happy.

We have a million reasons why we don’t pursue that which makes us happy. Which feeds our souls. Which completes us. We find the practical, the realistic, the superficial, the ancillary, the financial—we are exceptionally creative when it comes to the rationale for why we shouldn’t do what we love and be the people we wish to be. And we shortchange ourselves in the process.

Our country is founded on the pursuit of that which makes us happy. It is your God-given right. You deserve it. I deserve it. And I am terribly proud of my wife: she figured it out.

And she is happy.

If you wanna book a Disney vacation (you know you do), you can check the Wife out at amanda@dreamfindertravel.net or on her Facebook page.

Gotta run, guys. The Honey Badger turns 10 today and is bringing all the attitude and ass that Tweendom inspires. I’ll be back to the badness tomorrow.

See ya!